Boat Behind
by Snagged
Summary: After Zim vanished, Dib became an entirely different person. Despite his mean spiritedness, Gretchen finds it difficult to hold it against him, even after their fight in the school hall. Dwicky returns as the highschool counselor, but will Zim return as well? What will become of them? (One sided ships, possible future ZaDr, surprise ship, brief DwickyxElliot and more! R&R please)
1. Stranger of Mine

She shuffled down the wide halls of highschool using her peripheral to avoid collisions. At times it was difficult due to the fact that some felt it was completely necessary to stop and chat or text where they stood. In any given place, and at any given time, a clot of people would develop in these halls. It was especially prone to occur near the lunch hall.

Gretchen stopped as she arrived at a clot where people chatted and confused busy bodies tried to find a leak in the obstruction. Usually a mottled stream breaks through and the group deteriorates until eventually, only a few still-confused students remained. Once one enters the clot, it tends to get hectic. Any moment, someone could step on your foot, elbow you, knock you over, or a fight could break out. Most of the time, however, it was just a friendly gathering of friends or cliques.

As a small, steady stream broke through, somebody suddenly turned to depart their group and bumped right into Gretchen. It was a big guy, so of course, she went flying a few steps back into the nearest person. Her back bombarded someone elses. As soon as she could, she regained her balance and turned to utter a quick apology.

Before she could process who it was, they commented.

"Watch it!" he snapped, glaring.

It was Dib. Somewhere between middle school and highschool, he grew a spine and ditched his paranormal crusades all together. It might have had something to do with Zims disappearance, but she didn't know. His appearance didn't change much, just just looked..dirty. It was forgivable back when they were kids..they were kids after all and he'd spent so much time chasing the paranormal. The best excuse he had now was that he was too stoned to even hold a bar of soap. She rolled her eyes and walked on. She only managed a few feet when she heard him add,  
"Dike."

She missed when he simply ignored her or didn't seem to realize she existed. That was far better than how he responded to her now. Nobody would have guessed he'd turn out this way and adapt such a crude attitude and equally crude vocabulary. Despite all of the torment he had endured throughout his school-career and his home-life, he was always so eager and hopeful.  
Something broke.  
They were surprised but they all regarded him the same way they always had. A freak.  
Zim stopped coming to school sometime during middle school and it all snowballed from there. People were curious, but not enough to look into it. They accepted Zims disappearance and forgot him. Dib, evidently, did not.  
It was as if Zim took a part of Dib when he vanished, assuming that's what had happened and the truth wasn't more sinister. Dibs hope for vindication and eagerness to prove he was right and that he cared despite their treatment was just gone. What did he have without Zim? Zim was his golden ticket but he's long gone and so was the eager, optimistic Dib she once fawned over.  
She admired his spirit and his brilliance. He was different, but in a good way. He was a little a spastic, but it made her laugh. Now he was just like every other teen boy with a bone to pick with society. He fell into the crowd and washed away with the current.


	2. Ambivalence

As usual, the biology room was frigid and it didn't help that the large windows were covered by those cheap, canvas roll-down shades. Whatever sunlight there was to be had, was blocked out. She envied whatever bug was trapped between the warm glass and bright canvas.  
She struggled to find a gap as if just seeing the sunlight would warm her. She hadn't realized that she was staring until the bell-work had been passed down to her desk. Perhaps the monotony of bell-work would distract her from the chill.  
She was halfway through it, having bullshitted a few of the questions, when the tardy-bell rang and the classroom door was shut. The teacher, Mr. Kloyd, halted as he swung the door shut to allow one last student to enter.  
For a brief moment, Gretchen watched her cross the room and plop down into the last open seat. She filled out the worksheet deftly then practically dropped the pencil before pulling her handheld gaming console from her bag to play.  
Gretchen chewed her fingernail as she looked over her sheet. SHe had that dreadful feeling like some of them were incorrect but she wasn't sure which and which questions were correct. She'd have to settle for finding out after it was graded since the teacher wanted them passed up.  
She collected what came to her and passed them forward then slumped back in her chair and waited for the class to begin.

The ringing bell brought abrupt relief to the students in biology. Most had lunch next and would be able to warm themselves with the hot food and, if they were lucky, the sunlight pouring into the lunchroom through the row of tall windows.  
As she gathered her things, for no apparent reason, she looked up and met Gaz's eyes. Gaz shook her head, eyes faintly rolling, and she exited before Gretchen could shoot her a sneer or even twitch a muscle.  
She had always been a bitch, but now she had more discretion. She knew better than to punch others and push them off of their chairs but the way she bumped into you in the hall or walked close enough to your desk so the folders and papers would scatter to the floor was almost as bad.  
Their father was kind of a dick too, but he didn't seem aware of it.

She dropped her things off at her locker so she could have her hands-free to hold her tray at lunch. She crammed a five dollar bill into her pocket of her snugly fitting jeans and looked up when she heard,  
"Ew, quit touching yourself, lesbo."  
She watched Gaz and her posse chortle at her brilliant remark and just sighed knowing she could do nothing. She not only lacked a witty retort, but it would do very little good with those sheep hovering around Gaz.  
She shut her locker and strode towards the lunch hall, glad that Gaz was going in the opposite direction though she knew they had the same lunch hour.

She stood in line, silent and thoughtful. The table she usually sat at was already populated with the usual crowd and they all had their lunches and were too involved with their conversation so nobody elected to stand with her. She didn't blame them. The lunch period was thirty minutes but it felt more like fifteen. By the time she got out of the line, she'd have about that much time left.  
She finally reached the coolers holding the milk but she was waiting for few people in front of her to move on so she could reach the cooler with the juices. They were more focused on talking than moving and she thought she'd have to squeeze behind them and likely invoke their wrath but two of the kids were only actually in line to accompany a friend. As soon as they checked out, she was able to reach into the cooler with ease.  
She gave the door a slight yank, as it tended to stick a bit, and grabbed a cran-apple, or crapple, as her friends say, and looked over the label to make double-sure she grabbed the right one. She was so focused on the label, god help her if she grabbed cherry again, and making sure the door shut quietly that she didn't notice the person come up behind her.  
The cold bottle vanished from her hand and for a moment, she was in a stupor. She realized instantly who had come up and snatched her bottle when they stepped in front of her to check out the drink.  
Dib smirked at her, the scent of stale-weed trailed behind him.  
"Fucking douchebag." She muttered and reached in for another bottle.  
She was glad to see he'd already left the lunch room when she finished checking out her lunch. Her lunch period went along fine after and she hoped that was an omen that the rest of her day would be fine too.  
But of course not. Never.  
Only when she had separated from her group did he strike again. She was rummaging in her locker when a loud noise startled her. It took her a moment to realize that somebody had thrown an empty juice-bottle into her locker. The loudness of the empty, hard plastic banging against the metal echoed loudly and caught the attention of those passing by and so they all saw her jump in her skin and emit a sharp cry of surprise.  
She heard him laugh and immediately after, he was leaning with his arm against the locker.  
"Gaz said if she catches you staring at her again, she's gonna punch you out."  
Gretchen tried not to respond but the accusation was ludicrous. They teased her so much about supposedly being lesbian that people were beginning to believe them.  
"I wasn't staring. She was. That's why I looked up at her."  
"Yeah cuz your nips were tingling, huh?"  
"God, just shut up. It's like your sister wishes I had a crush on her or something." she heard herself say. She instantly regretted it, but instantly wasn't quick enough.  
She felt his bony hand press into her and she fell off balance, her shoulder blade hitting against the rim of the locker where the door connected. "Don't talk about my sister like that, lesbo. It's not her fault you're so obsessed with her."  
She couldn't believe he had actually pushed her into her locker. He'd always said and done mean things towards her, but never laid a hand on her. She was so shocked that she was unable to speak for a moment. The fact that Dib, her once friendly, outgoing, optimistic Dib, had just physically hurt her. She closed her eyes and shook her head, mostly hoping the prickling in her eyes would subside.  
She opened them and picked her bag up from the floor. She wanted to be able to just leave, but she was too hurt for that.  
"I wish you would have vanished instead of Zim."  
She shut her locker and turned to leave but she felt a tug on her bag. She turned and saw Dib gripping one of the straps. He gave it a tug and nearly made her fall into him. "Don't ever fucking say that name around me." he growled.  
Gretchen yanked the strap out of his grip. "Zim, Zim, Zim." she hissed. "You should be glad he's gone. You acted like a total retard around him."  
Dib narrowed his eyes and did the unthinkable. He threw himself at her and his weight forced her to the ground. He managed to keep on his feet but Gretchen landed on her back, a sharp corner of one of her textbooks dug into her ribcage.  
A small group of kids formed and waited to see what would happen next. Despite all she'd been told about fighting and being the bigger person, she just couldn't do it. Not right then.

She stood up and pretended she was just going to walk away, but instead she swung her bag into Dib. He hardly budged and she panicked for a moment but then realized he was distracted just enough. She gave another shove and threw him off balance. Without really knowing what the hell it was she was doing, she grabbed one of his flailing feet and dragged him nearer to her. Realizing that she wasn't sure what her intent was, she peeled off one of her shoes, more than improvising at this point, and contemplated hurling it at his face. Instead she threw it into the crowd. As mad as she was, the image of the Dib she once loved hindered her.  
Apparently he had nothing of the sort to stop him. He leaped to his feet and grabbed her by her shirt and pushed her into the lockers again. She grabbed his arms and tried to pry his fingers off but he was surprisingly strong and, of all times, sober.  
Not sure of what else to do, she spat at his face. The crowd let out a disgusted 'eew' but continued to spectate.  
Dib pulled her from the locker and slammed her back into it nearly forcing the air from her lungs.  
She had had enough and refused to believe this was the same Dib from elementary school. This was just some drugged out, dirty, poisoned shell of a once good-kid.  
She released one of his arms tried her best to strike her knuckles against his face. The position of his arms made it a little awkward, but she managed.  
He let go, stepping back a foot or two, and touched his cheek gingerly. Apparently she had hit him harder than she thought and the adrenaline was coursing through her veins making it seem as though she barely touched him.  
There was a silence and he took his fingers from his face. The red blood was striking on his pale skin. Gretchen looked down at her knuckles, the middle knuckle was just beginning to redden, blood beginning to pool in the shallow absence of skin.  
Before either could make another move, security had broke through the crowd and was restraining the two of them. Gretchen couldn't take her eyes from Dib who struggled, his face contorted with anger and vengeance as he stared right back.  
The security personnel who had come to her took her by the shoulder, hard, and forcefully guided her towards the office. She didn't know where Dib was being taken, the nurse perhaps as his wound was more obvious than hers so they probably didn't even notice her bleeding, but she hoped it was far from her. She didn't want him to see the hurt in her eyes as she fought back her tears.


	3. Stricken

Dwicky leaned back in his office chair with his arms crossed patiently as he watching the youth across from him chipping at her black nail polish. From what Dwicky understood, Dib had been destroyed by the sudden disappearance of Zim. It was like he was a totally different kid. He didn't want to think of Dib as somebody other than that energetic, optimistic 12 year old who seemed to be the only other person wise to the vast universe around them. He did see Dib in the hall though. He was leaned up against the wall with some friends and had flipped Dwicky off when he caught the counselor looking. Apparently he was still pissed about the camera.

He leaned forward and laced his fingers together on the desk. Gretchen looked up for a moment before continuing with her nails."Do yo know why you're here?" he asked.  
She stopped picking and looked at him loathingly, "No I haven't' the slightest idea."  
"Gretchen."  
"Because I beat the shit out of Dib."she replied. "Since he doesn't have guts to beat out." she added in a mutter. It was a bit of an exaggeration, but it was closer to what she wanted to do.  
"Gretchen, violance-"  
"Is not he answer. Yeah, I know."  
"Do you?"  
"Okay Socrates. He had it coming."  
"Was is necessary?"  
"Yes. Somebody had to do it. He's so fucking obnoxious.."  
"You could have spoken to a teacher."  
Gretchen tossed down her hands, "You can't be serious! You've gotta be new new here. Listen," she glanced at his name plate, "Dicky" she said, oblivious to the W, "Dibs dad is Professor Membrane. THE professors of professors. Nobody gives a detention to the son of the man who gave us sourceless and unlimited energy. The Principal and Professor Membrane decide on a settlement and he's back in school."  
"That's against school policy-" he began but she interrupted him.  
"Have you walked around this place?"  
"Well, yes."  
"With your eyes open? Kids live off of weenies, mutant hamsters rampage, radiation deformed children frolic, sawdust candy bars are fed to them, stray dogs out Satan's anus, explosive beans, explosions, Michael Jackson running free on the streets! This is not happyville. It's not even Good-enoughsburg. Shit like that doesn't matter."  
Dwicky sat back again, his hands trailing across the desk calendar.  
"And me, I don't have rich kin. I don't have family period." she crossed her arms.  
"So, you're an orphan?"  
"With a capital O."  
"For how long?"  
"Childhood, but my grampa just died a few months ago."  
"Do you think this is the reason behind your outbreak?"  
"Psh, I dunno. I used to keep to myself, but middle school changed people, highschool enforces it."  
"Is that all?"  
She scoffed, "No. I'm going to be kicked out of the foster home real soon but thanks to President Man, the job market is zilch. What am I going to do? Sell my body? The teachers here suck too. Look at the schools test scores if you don't believe me. Then there's Dib giving everybody shit because 'boohoo his stupid green boyfriend disappeared and his daddy is never home so he gets the snot beat out of him by his psycho sister."  
"Gretchen, this is normal. There's no need to lash out." he paused, "Dib and Zim-?  
"So my reason is bogus?" she rolled her eyes. "And no. Might as well be though. Seriously."  
"Well, no, but there are better alternatives."  
"Like?"  
"Well, uh, sports, burning energy and adrenaline, " he suggested, tapping the outside of his hands on the surface of his desk.  
"You know there are fees, right? Then you gotta pay for usage of stuff." she asked.  
"I'm sure the park has paths to run or cycle on."  
"Right, with the bike I can't afford and the creeps hiding in the bushes."  
He sighed and put his hands flat together. "Gretchen, you need to help me help you. Start by being a little more agreeable." he said, his hands rocking as if he was tisking her.  
"I've _been _agreeable, but I can only be so agreeable for so long before that..that..jerk-" She couldn't finish. Jerk wasn't strong enough but she still found it difficult to call him anything worse.  
"I'll talk to the principle, alright? Is this the first time he's done something like this?"  
She recollected the various times he'd called her names or had thrown a bottle cap or something at her, but nothing real serious. It felt like childish tattletaling to mention it so she said nothing. "No, not really."  
"Okay well since it's a first time offense, maybe he'll go easy on you."  
"It wouldn't be his, but he's just gonna get a slap on the wrist but I'm sure I'll end up expelled or something." she exclaimed, throwing her hands up.  
"Have faith in me, alright? I'll do my best to make sure this gets sorted out and try to prevent it from happening again."  
Reluctantly, she looked up at him, not quite buying it.  
He offered a lopsided smile, "I promise I'll try." he assured her, placing his hand against the desktop calender in a gesture meant to portray the same sentiment as placing ones hand on anothers.  
She looked away and nodded. "Fine."

The room was so white, you'd swear you were trapped under an avalanche.  
Gretchen shuffled over to the bench and sat then laid back and let one leg hang over the bench, one arm over her face. It didn't help to remember at that moment that the blood was drying up on her hand and itched terribly. She took away her arm to examine the wound. It still stung. Gretchen flexed her hand, fresh blood shmoozed out over the dried platelets.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Mr. Dwicky talking to the secretary. One hand was deep in his pocket, the other accentuated what he was saying. Mrs. Fibble said something and Dwicky nodded with a blink, then brushed his bangs behind his ear. He mimed a wrapping motion around his hand and jerked his head in her direction. He had noticed, it seemed. He suddenly turned to face her and she quickly looked away. She brought up her legs and fiddled with the shoe lace once she was sure he was going to leave her alone. They felt oddly dirty.  
She was picking at some sticky gunk on the top of her shoe when the heavy door clicked.

Nurse Hun came in, her shoes made quiet shuffling sounds on the linoleum. She stopped in front of Gretchen but didn't speak. She got new shoes it seemed. They looked strangely masculine.  
"Don't nurses have to wear booties?" Gretchen asked without looking up.  
One foot tipped a little as she looked at it, "I wouldn't know. I'm not a nurse."

Definitively not Nurse Hun.

She jerked her head up and was surprised to find Dwicky standing before her.  
He held up some cloth and alcohol, "But I can give it a shot." he said offering another one of his lopsided grins. She looked away and stopped fiddling with her laces. "Let's see your hand." he said gently.

She began to lift her hand, but stopped. It's fine. Just blood flesh and bone. Nothing huge.  
She looked down at her fingers which idly grazed her shoe. From her peripheral, she saw him dab the cloth with the alcohol. He crouched and looked up at her, raising his brows. "Your hand?"  
Hesitantly she held out her hand and he took it.  
She swore she turned as red as an apple and could feel her flesh burn. His thumb pressed into her palm, his other fingers pressed gently on top of her hand. He dabbed gingerly at the gaping wound. The dried blood disappeared and the sting was refreshing. He looked at it closely as if to scrutinize her cells.  
That's gonna need stitches." he concluded as he looked up at her. For a brief moment, they just looked at each other, but he suddenly stood up. He placed the rag on her hand. "Press this into your hand, alright? I'll contact your home." He said with an air of importance, then stood for another moment.

She looked over her hand, and he left. As soon as he turned the corner, she ran her finger along where his fingers pressed into her hand. Even if she was about to get a needle in it about ten times, she felt like she were stuffed with cotton. Then it hit her like a bookbag of reference books.  
_What the hell am I thinking? I'm a junior in highschool with an over active attitude and serious etiquette problems. He's a tidy, gentle twenty something year old school counselor. Totally immoral and totally not going to happen.  
_She forced the thought out of her mind, embarrassed despite being alone and the only one aware of her thoughts. Sure was cute, sure he was caring and probably really smart, but he was an adult and a counselor and probably already had a girlfriend.  
She smirked dryly barely able to believe herself.


	4. Sparks

An hour and thirteen minutes after the dismissal bell rang, and Dwicky finished his paper work. He was nearly finished with it all when Gretchen decided to pull off her ultimate offense. Five more forms were then shoved his way. On the bright side, the school will be getting at least 10,000 bucks after this.  
He smirked to himself, laughing a little at his own little joke.

Once every file was tucked in its folder and the room was tidied, he grabbed his coat and messenger-bag then headed out. He locked his office and shuffled down the hall into the main office. The custodian was wiping down the finger smudged windows. The recpetionist was also readying to leave.  
"Goodnight Mrs. M," Dwicky said warmly as he passed through.  
"Goodnight." she replied, just as warmly.

The temperature was neutral, but the clouds over head suggested rain. It was only four thirty one, but the clouds coaxed drivers to turn on their headlights and for residents to tip their lawn chairs. Dwicky sauntered across the parking lot with his jacket slung over his shoulder and his bag knocking against him. He quickly punched in the keycode to his royal blue hybrid, his bag next to him and his jacket atop his bag. With a purr, the car started then made barely more than a contempt humm. It felt stuffy then, so Dwicky rolled down the window in time to catch Mr. Elliot exiting his own, quaint car.

"Evening Elliot!" Dwicky called.  
"Hey, Dwicky!" he called back.  
"Is there a meeting tonight or something?" He asked, one arm resting on the windows frame.  
"Yeah. Wouldn't you know it? On a Friday! Just gotta come to this student aid meeting, y'know?" he said with faint shrug.  
"Ah, yeah, fun." he teased.  
Elliot waved his hand dismissively with a 'psh',

Both men shared a chuckled and then once again, bade their goodbyes. If it weren't for the fact that there were counselors for each grade, it would be him in there for the meeting. He is, however, the counselor for the twelfth grade. Elliot was there with the tenth grade counselors for reasons he couldn't figure out as he was simply a teacher.

As Dwicky thought about this, he suddenly felt a pang of disappointment. There was something about Elliot he liked. Perhaps it was his great charisma, or patience, knowledge, kindness, gentleness, his great cooking skill, or most likely, how he knew how to cuddle with him on those nights when they watched Oxygen.

Dwicky felt a chill run down his chest and quickly searched for something else to occupy his mind. Before long, he was thinking over his paper work and the cases. Alot of them were just bullying issues. Others dealt with family problems. Dib came in every once in a while, but he wouldn't even cooperate in the slightest. It was his job to pry and attempt to make him feel better, but he was a half a year away from the real world where if you don't share or don't want to, then nobody cared.

Within minutes he was leaving city boundaries and driving into its outskirts. It wasn't quite country, more of just flat suburbia. A few miles off from there, an apartment complex stood tall and broad in almost nowhere land. Designed back in 2028, it was suppose to look modern futuristic. It wa nearly nothing more than a cement block with iron doors cascaded glass side windows and the windows were narrow and tall.

Dwicky pulled into his usual parking spot, just as he did, large drops of rain spattered on his windshield. Instantly his windshield wipers activated and his window rolled up. For a few moments, he only sat where he was, the radio played softly and his vehicles engine purred. He finally killed the ignition but remained sitting. Larger drops splattered on any exposed object while thunder rolled in the distance.

He grabbed his bag and opened his door, making sure to avoid knocking his head on the way out. Quickly he shut the door and sprinted to the double doors of the complex, hoping he wouldn't get too wet. There was no such luck for him. The rain grew heavier once he reached the midpoint between his car and the doors. He cursed to himself, pulling the jacket over him like an umbrella. He reached the entrance and pulled them open to hurry inside. Once there, he looked down the empty, silent corridor, four cobalt blue doors on each side, a crimson carpet down it's length and cement stairs. The burnt-pumpkin coloured walls made the smell of Heldas apple pie all the more irresistible. He made a mental note to stop by her shoppe and pick some climbed up the stairs, his soft footsteps sounding more like stomping, thanks to the lonely silence. He passed through the floor two with its navy carpet, crimson doors and it's deep storm-blue slid his key into the slot, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the hall, pausing to take it in. Despite the rain, the area still held its beauty.

When the lock clicked, he turned the knob and entered. There was work to do.


End file.
